


Measured In Moments

by astorii



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: AU, Age Difference (but not really), F/M, Gen, M/M, MIM Rewrite, Moral Dilemma, Overgrown oneshot, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astorii/pseuds/astorii
Summary: In which Conan and Kaitō Kid are soulmates and moral dilemmas ensue.





	Measured In Moments

**Author's Note:**

> I do not and never will own DCMK.
> 
> Or Sherlock Holmes. I slip in one of Doyle’s quotes. So, yeah, I don’t own that.

Curiosity is quite the color on a child and Shinichi wears it well.

His mother had sat the both of them down in front of a television with one of her old shows playing on it. Since the title screen came on, she took to playing with his hair and occasionally bouncing him on her knees. By now, he’s watched the series at least three times, which says a lot about how much time the mother-son duo have as there are over one hundred forty-five minute episodes. Not that it matters, as he’s entertained by the mystery aspect as she just loves watching one of her many shows.

“Kāsan?” he says, interrupting the inner monologue of the on-screen detective, which just so happens to be one of his mother’s past roles.

“What is it, Shin-chan?” she asks, pausing the video and bringing him closer. She giggles when he starts squirming at the closeness. Despite the urgings, she resists from turning him around so she can pinch his cheeks. Eventually, he stops his struggle, resigning to the fact that he’s her personal teddy bear.

“Why do we have numbers?” Shinichi inquires, referring to the print on their wrists. His mother isn’t surprised at his question, even if it’s currently irrelevant. It’s a standard question for the young to ask as their wrists are seldom covered until they’re old enough to begin attending the first grade.

Yukiko falls silent, staring at her wrist. Underneath a gold bracelet gifted by her husband, 197973:20:12 is at a standstill on her skin in a cursive font colored in a stunning shade of grey. Her eyes land on the exposed surface on Shinichi’s left arm where his own numbers lay. 30667:15:49 winks at the both of them before the third number climbs up. She smiles, looking at the whimsically smooth swirl of indigo ink on his wrist.

“Well, Shin-chan, they’re sort of like stopwatches. Do you know how those work?”

The boy mulls over that for a moment before declaring that he does. With utter confidence, he says, “They count time and then you stop them,” and finishes off with a definite nod. “Tōsan said so once.”

“Bingo,” she says in English, drawing out the last syllable. “See, Shinichi, these stopwatches are special because they keep counting up until you and your soulmate look each other in the eyes.”

Shinichi, who is young and lacking knowledge in the soulmate department, asks what exactly the word means. Yukiko thinks on this, wondering the best way to explain without diving into a winded explanation that her son might be unable to follow. When an idea strikes down, lighting up her head as lightning does to the sky, she picks him up, seating him so that they can continue this conversation eye-to-eye.

“Your soulmate is quite literally the other half of your soul,” says she, informing him of the significance of the word. “At least, that’s what humans have been saying for centuries. Your father is mine, of course.”

Wrinkling his nose, Shinichi remarks on how stupid that sounds. He asks how one would know when their stopwatch (— _soulmark, she interrupts_ —) stops if they aren’t looking at it. Yukiko only smiles, letting out a dreamy sigh as the romantic side of her blooms in the sun of remembrance. The child looks at her with an odd expression, wondering what could bring such a look to her face. He’s only ever seen the look whenever his father decided to woo her with a romantic gesture of some sort.

“If you happen to look someone in the eyes then you’ll just know,” she replies in a light voice, recalling the day when she and Yūsaku had locked eyes. It’s with great confidence that she can say the breath was knocked out of her at the exact moment their eyes made contact. “Once you meet, it’s hard to ignore your soulmate.” Her eyes twinkle as she grins down at him. “Once you meet, it won’t be so stupid.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shinichi frowns, turning himself around and hitting the play button on the remote. Yukiko squeals, pointing out that this is the dramatic moment in her character’s deduction, which he knows as he’s seen this episode thrice already. He doesn’t hear the character’s thoughts weaving together into a tight rope that traps the culprit, tying them down with a knot called justice.

Not too long ago, he met a girl named Mouri Ran. The other is a force to be reckoned with despite being not that much older than he is. Despite their differences, he found himself beginning to like her as more than just a friend. Shinichi knows now that he and the tomboyish girl were never meant to be anything more than friends—although, maybe siblings in all but blood and name will suffice. Having found some peace in that, he relaxes and looks back to the screen in time to see the criminal being handcuffed and the credits rolling in.

The two of them grow up, talking about their soulmarks whenever they had nothing else to talk about. At some point, the both of them confess to have liked each other prior to learning about the meaning of a soulmark. One of those days, Ran makes an offhand comment about how some people defy whatever it is the number on their wrist tells them and get together with someone who is most definitely not their soulmate. After that, they both fall silent and the topic of soulmates and marks disappears as if they’re afraid the other will suggest the idea—she always hated the subject of soulmates and marks anyway; it’s a wonder why she even dared to broach the topic.

It just doesn’t seem right, they both think, to steal someone away from Fate; although, they both realize it can’t be helped. Love is, after all, an odd thing. And so are soulmates.

•••

Shinichi groans, clawing at the ground and digging up dirt with his nails when he feels an odd sting of pain upon moving his muscles. He thought he died for a moment there because all he can remember is the feeling of his bones melting and his body burning up. When he sits up, there’s a light so bright that he doubts himself and wonders again if he’s died. All of those thoughts dispel when a burst of pain comes from the back of his head.

“You all right, little boy?”

He squints, trying to look past the light. He makes out the face of two security guards staring at him with looks of varying concern. Shinichi nods, not trusting his voice as his throat feels hoarse and dry. He can’t remember what he could have done to leave it so parched. All the screaming, after all, had been done in his head because his vocal chords seemed to have been seized by the burning he can recall. While he’s trying to find sound, one of the men picks up his radio and the light lowers.

“Take it easy,” the other guard says—or is he an officer? A security guard sounds more likely though. “That’s a nasty bump you got there, kid. Do you remember how you got it?”

Bump? _Bump? What bump?_ Shinichi reaches back with one arm, finding his sleeves heavy and long—much more so than he remembered them being earlier that day. He realizes that his arm is tingling, prompting a moan as he deduces that he had placed most of his weight on it during his unconscious state. Rolling his shoulders to relieve himself of some tension, he finds himself trying to recall earlier events.

He remembers the roller coaster, telling Ran to go on ahead, and men in black.

Heart beginning to race as the events prior to his blacking out start catching up to him, he becomes hyper aware of how his clothes feel heavier and too big for his person, which is just as confusing as it is frightening because they fit nice and snug when he had changed into them—and since when were his shoes so spacious?

Shinichi looks to the men, noticing that they’re distracted. He takes that moment as his best opening, and gets up, holding back a shout of pain as he begins to run. Almost but not quite tripping, he pulls on the legs of his pants, thinking to himself that it’s as if he’s wearing an embarrassingly long dress of some sort.

Minutes crawl past him as though he spent hours running. He stumbles, catching himself against the glass of a window display or a door—he’s too out of it to pinpoint exactly what it is he’s pitching almost all of his weight on. Shinichi brings one hand up, wondering why the fabric of his sleeves are heavy, and rests it against his beating heart, which thuds wildly in his chest.

He knows he hasn’t been running for that long, but why does he feel so winded as though he’s run a marathon? Wiping his forehead, he staggers away from the surface, hoping to see from his reflection what his condition is as he notices the horrid mix of blood and sweat that’s transferred from his hair and skin to the fabric on his arm. Alarmed is an understatement.

Downright horrified and terribly confused is a better way to put it.

Shinichi leans forward, touching his face with the pads of his fingers, taking in his current appearance, which appears to be that of his body around the age of six or seven.

•••

Not much is known about soulmarks.

A new fact, however, has arisen: soulmarks do not measure the physical age of one’s body; it’s too bad that this information cannot be revealed—at least, for now it can’t.

Shinichi tugs on the sleeve of his suit jacket, which smells both stale and reminiscent of childhood, even though he had put it through the washer and dryer just a few minutes prior while he had busied himself in the shower to wash whatever remained of blood and dirt. His hair drips as he habitually lets it air dry since he deems towels to be damaging and blow drying to be pointless and time consuming.

With an aggressive sigh, he jumps to his feet, pacing back and forth as if that could do something to ease the niggling feeling inside his chest. “I’m currently in a body that’s at least ten years younger than it should be,” he mutters, his voice sounding just the tiniest bit unhinged. He runs a small hand through his hair, catching loose droplets that he wipes on his sleeves. “Hakase, this shouldn’t be possible.”

“Not impossible,” says the inventor, holding his right hand just below his chin in a contemplative manner. “Just improbable.”

Shinichi pauses in his movements to send the man a scathing glare. “You’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you can invent some solution.” He begins pacing again, but at a faster pace than before. “Can’t you do anything?”

Agasa frowns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Shinichi-kun, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything—I’m an inventor, not a chemist. Besides, we don’t even know anything about the poison. I don’t know what components are needed to combat the effect it had on you.” He makes some odd noise. “I think it’s safe to say that this is a side effect. If it hadn’t been tested on humans, it must have been tested on animals. Whoever gave it to you probably thought you would die like the other test subjects must have.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” snaps the detective, sarcasm and snark dripping from his words. “I love being told that I should be dead.” He lifts up his arms, pulling back the blue sleeve on his left arm to reveal the delicate swirl of ink. His right thumb traces the numbers before he recoils from his own arm, crossing the both of them and dropping his gaze. “The situation would at least be more tolerable if I could actually pretend I was six. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m six when my mark says that I’m sixteen?”

The inventor tries to quell his growing frustration, claiming that it’s possible that this is temporary. Shinichi almost wishes it wouldn’t be over so soon because he’s not certain that he can stomach the pain again. He says as much, relaying to the man in great detail of how painful the transformation had been; his bones felt as though they were melting and he felt steam coming off of him—come to think of it, all his extra mass had to go somewhere, right? Scratching his head, he thinks about how this situation is straight out of a science fiction comic book. Did all his extra mass turn into steam? Were his bones actually melting?

Shinichi pats himself down, stomach dropping. Are his... are his insides still perfectly intact? His nervous system certainly is. But is everything still there? And functioning properly? The thought of missing an organ or having a now-deformed one makes him uneasy.

What if he doesn’t even have a stomach to feel uneasy with? He shakes the thought away. No, he’s being silly.

“You absolutely cannot tell anyone about what has happened to you! If those men in black find out—”

“I know.” He mimes a knife slicing through his neck. “If anyone finds out, I’m as good as dead and so are they. The problem is that I’ve no clue how I’m going to find any leads on them! I don’t know who that other man was or what connection he has to those guys either. I got nothing except for the fact that they won’t hesitate to kill.” His eyes darken. “I can’t let this happen to anyone else.”

Before the professor can even say anything in reply, the doors of the mansion are thrown open, the sound echoing along with a familiar voice.

Agasa and Shinichi share twin looks of horror before the latter dives behind his father’s desk with a panicked expression on his face because he can’t risk being recognized by Ran.

With bated breath, he listens to Ran inquire about his whereabouts while he pulls a drawer open quietly, sorting through its contents. He knows that his father has an old pair of glasses that he had tucked away since his prescription had changed. Hidden beneath a mass of junk, he finds it, tucked away in a case. Before he thinks to even take the lenses out, he slams them on his face, hitting his nose in his haste and sending him careening forward as his eyes go crossed due to the change in vision. Quickly, he pops the lenses out, mentally berating himself for not doing so in the first place.

“And who are you?” Ran asks, dropping to her knees in front of him. She leans forward, prompting him to step backwards, placing his back against the shelf of books. His eyes dart behind him as he turns his head ever-so-slightly. And his name, he tells her, is Edogawa Conan.

•••

Being an elementary schooler again is an experience.

A horrible, horrible experience.

Children are naturally curious creatures; Conan knows that and he knows it well. Children have no qualms about their soulmarks as, for some forsaken reason, proper etiquette isn’t taught until the third grade. Proper etiquette involves not prying about other’s soulmarks if a person makes it clear that the mark bared is to be kept a secret.

His introduction to the class hadn’t been the greatest. Since children are naturally curious, everyone wants to be friends with the new kid until they learn where said new kid lies on the unspoken social hierarchy. Soon enough, everyone gets tired.

But not those three: Kojima Genta, Tsuburaya Mitsuhiko, and Yoshida Ayumi.

To be frank, Conan doesn’t like kids because they’re nosy. To be frank, Conan doesn’t like kids because even Shinichi had trouble befriending his peers. To be frank, Conan doesn’t like kids because he isn’t one _so can they just stop—!_

He has to admit, these three aren’t so bad—terribly annoying and bratty and pushy, yes, but... they like mysteries and they like soccer. Sure, they’re nowhere near his level, but perhaps if they were older, they’d be decent. All in all, so long as they don’t pry into his business, he can tolerate them until he gets his body back. They have potential. They have spirit. They have what it takes to be great if they actually grow and learn.

But then they did it—pried, that is.

The day had started out just as mundane as usual: wake up, go to school, get dragged to the park, and play some soccer.

In the middle of a game of three v. one, with the one being him, he notices that the kids seem otherwise occupied in a mental sense; it’s as if they aren’t really thinking about the game as much as they should. He had even let the kids steal the ball from him a good number of times because he thought that maybe they felt like they couldn’t beat him, but that hardly did a thing.

He traps the ball under his foot, barely out of breath and watches as the three stop to pant and sweat.

“You know, soccer’s only fun when your heart is in the game,” he drawls, raising his brows at them. “Are you guys all right?”

The kids all share a look, piquing the detective’s curiosity. He watches Ayumi bite her lip, Genta scratch his bald spot, and Mitsuhiko kick his foot into the ground. Conan doesn’t like the way the girl’s eyes flash because the emotion reminds him of the times when Ran looked like she was about to burst into tears—and he loves Ran so much and sometimes Ayumi is just so much like her that it hurts him to look at her.

Mitsuhiko makes the first move. “Conan-kun, we noticed that not once have we ever seen your soulmark.”

“What he’s saying is that we want to see your mark,” Genta says, being as forward as ever. The large boy winces when the freckled one hisses his name. So much for being subtle, he supposes.

Conan gapes, shuts his mouth, and then gapes some more. Defensively, his right hand wraps around his left wrist, curling around it like some sort of vice as he brings both appendages closer to his chest. He shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“Aw, come on,” whines Genta, throwing his hands up in the air. “You see ours all the time. Everyone here knows what everyone else’s mark looks like.”

The shrunken sleuth bemoans whoever it is that decided that kids under the age of nine were too young to begin learning even the basics of soulmarks etiquette. He lowers his arms and moves his hand to tug down on his sleeve, which feels far too short in this moment. Everyday, he’s taken to wearing long sleeves because he has yet to obtain anything that can hide his mark. As Shinichi, he never cared who saw. As Conan, hiding his mark means more to him than anything else in this world.

“Where I grew up,” Conan says, averting his gaze, “I was always taught that it’s only proper to hide your soulmark as it’s meant to be a special something between you and the one you’re destined to be with.” Family and close friends not withstanding, but the kids are barely making the cut as his friends—he’d never tell them until he’s certain that they can’t be friends. “I cover mine because I want to.”

“Please, Conan-kun?” Ayumi asks, pouting at him with a look that reminds him of Ran. “We just want to know what yours looks like...”

Looking as though he believes the entire situation is under his control, Mitsuhiko lets a smug smile play on his lips and his arms cross defiantly over his chest as he lifts his chin. “Technically speaking, you have no reason to hide it.” He pauses, raising his brows as he looks down at Conan. “Or do you?”

Knowing that he may as well just reveal his identity to Ran if he does so for the kids, Conan sighs. He opts for rolling the ball under his foot while shaking his head. “Of course not,” he denies, moving the ball so his foot was resting on it at an angle with his heel on the ground. “Why would I?”

“Dunno,” Genta responds, shrugging. “Maybe you already found your soulmate.”

Those words make Ayumi’s face twist into some sort of expression that gives Conan the impression that he should either be feeling very guilty or very scared. In a small, wobbling voice she asks if he had indeed found the one he’s meant to be with and he vehemently denies, shaking his head so much that he gives himself a small rush of vertigo. If he had found the one, it would have been Ran. And, since the two childhood friends weren’t soulmates, he could only hope that it’s someone who’s near the age of sixteen with a standard deviation of one or two years—at least for now it would be extremely uncomfortable to date someone who’s much older or much younger than he is.

Recovering from his bout of dizziness, Conan notices the trio advancing towards his, hands out and fingers at their disposal to pull back his sleeve. A spike of fear kicks in because such a simple action can cost him everything.

Out of sheer panic, he kicks the ball towards them with all his might, still having enough sense to aim it high enough so that they don’t get hit by the projectile; it’s not like he used any enhancements anyway.

As they all jump to the sides to dodge, he makes a run for it, grabbing his school bag and racing to the only place where he can be himself: Agasa’s house.

Conan all but breaks through the door, startling the man who’s busy cooking what smells like curry—or at least an overly spiced and burnt curry.

“Hakase, I need your help.” He proceeds to give a hasty explanation in one breath, complaining how hard it’s been trying to hide his mark and how he wishes he had the sense to do so when he was Shinichi because at least then he’d have something—a sweatband, a watch, _anything_. “Please, it’s already hard enough as is. Do you have anything that can help?”

He’s thought of sweatbands—he used them when he used to be on the soccer team, but he must have thrown them all out and they might have been too big anyway, given he used those when he was in middle and high school, not elementary school. He’s thought of watches, but he doesn’t have any that fit his wrist and he doesn’t want to have to ask Ran to buy one for him and he can’t find any designs that aren’t absolutely childish while still fitting on his wrist. He’s thought of bracelets, but they move around too much and he can’t find anything he actually likes.

Having anticipated this, Agasa unveils his latest invention: a waterproof and overall weatherproof tranquilizer wristwatch with a band large enough to cover his mark, but not so much that it’s bulky or tacky. The silver accessory gleams as it catches light, and he stares at it with no hidden ounce of amazement.

Putting it on, he finds that it fits perfectly—not too tight, but not loose enough that it slides around on his wrist. Warmth swells inside of him and he meets the man’s eyes, giving the most heartfelt thanks that he’s ever given anyone thus far. Now, even in the event that he has to get in the bath or pool with anyone, his mark will be hidden away from the rest of the world.

The next day, he wears short sleeves for the first time, and the kids apologize to him profusely.

Even though he’s still apprehensive, he accepts their regret as nothing less than genuine, telling them that it’s okay so long as they don’t ever do it again.

The kids proceed to beg Kobayashi to give their class a lesson on soulmark etiquette.

•••

Not too long ago, Conan got his body back only to be crushed when it turned out to be a temporary development.

Agasa had brought to his attention that there is to be a contest concerning his favorite fictional detective. Conan persuaded Kogorō and Ran to take him with only just a bit of trouble—pulling on the desperate child card had worked to his advantage. A first-edition book that not even he had is at stake! Of course he has to go!

They arrive at their destination and all is well until he crosses paths with Hattori Heiji, the hotblooded detective from Osaka who only stops when he reaches the first truth that the culprit wants him to see.

The little detective should have known that this entire thing had been too good to be true. It hadn’t been even the least bit surprising when a dead body turned up. And then another. Really, he can’t take himself anywhere when Death seems to follow him like some sort of lost puppy begging for attention.

Conan manages to piece the case together, but he has no means of relaying his deductions; he can’t bring forth the Sleeping Sleuth when Heiji is already a hairsbreadth away from finding out his secret.

So, to solve that problem, he does what anyone else would do in his shoes: use Hattori Heiji as his own personal puppet like he did Mouri Kogorō.

The little detective weaves together his deduction with his usual dramatic flair—the same dramatic flair he denies to have gotten from his mother no matter how much everyone insists upon it. Creating an iron prison with his words, Conan corners the culprit behind both deaths, leaving no room for conviction. He’s put the criminal in a spot that he can’t get out of.

“The reason? _Irene Adler’s Sneer_ —the very book that you published with Hiroyuki-san,” he says, delivering the words in Heiji’s voice. “Like many others, Kento-san had been far from its biggest fan.”

Moments later, he has him.

“The book was unforgivable. I did it for Sherlock. And for Irene.”

Behind the door, Conan drops his arms, allowing his weight to rest fully on the door as he bows his head. By his side, his fists shake because how could anyone murder and claim it to be for the detective Sherlock Holmes? How could anyone do something so disgraceful? How could anyone sully the author and the character’s good name by doing something so disgusting?

Before he can get really mad, his anger dissolved upon hearing Heiji yawn from the other side of the door. The little detective freezes, feeling the door shake a bit as the larger presence moves. He stares at his watch, thinking about how the other can’t possibly be awake because the tranquilizing agent is strong enough to keep even an elephant down for a good thirty minutes! Even Kogorō, who’s been exposed to it for longer, isn’t so immune that he’d wake up so soon after being put to sleep!

Conan bites his lip when Ran calls his name out after asking Heiji if delivering his deduction had been tiring. The little detective takes this moment to slink our from behind the door while stringing together some excuse about how he just went to the toilet. Before he can finally calm his nerves, Heiji leers down at him, saying, “Yer Kudō, aren’t ya?”

The not-child lets out a bark of childish laughter, hoping that it sounds even halfway decent. “What are you talking about, Heiji-niichan? I’m just a kid! Maybe when I’m older, I’ll be just like Shinichi-niichan!”

Heiji crouches down, raising his brows as he leans forward, inserting himself into the shrunken sleuth’s personal space. “Cut that kid crap, Kudō, I know it’s ya,” he snaps, swiping at Conan’s bow tie. Flipping it over reveals a small series of dials and magnets and speakers and the like. To be frank, everything on it does not belong on a bow tie. “So this is how ya mimicked my voice, huh?” Leaning back to stare smugly down at the diminutive detective, he says, “I was watchin’ ya outta the corner of my eye the entire time.”

Conan’s hand itches towards his mark, which has become one of his defensive gestures given his circumstances. He lowers his chin, protesting the other’s words. “It’s just some toy I ordered in the mail!”

The Osakan shrugs, letting go of the accessory, sending it flying back towards the base of Conan’s neck; it elicits a small gasp from the not-child. Pursing his lips, Heiji jabs a pointy finger at the other’s chest with enough force that the other detective wonders if his skin is delicate enough that a bruise will be left in its wake.

“Yer not gonna give up, are ya, Kudō?” Heiji narrows his eyes, leaning closer once more, prompting the little detective to step back. “Well, neither am I! I can’t explain the body, but the way ya talk and yer logic and yer deductions—it’s all Kudō! There’s no doubt ‘bout it!”

He will deny it if anything asks if he trembled or stuttered in the moment that followed. Conan retaliates with a weak, “But I’m just a little boy!” He wonders how everything could have gone south as fast as it did. “There’s no way I could be Shinichi-niichan!” At the unimpressed look, he goes, “What about the extra mass? Where did that go? There’s no way anyone can become this young again.”

As the other rises to his feet, Conan feels the tension slip from his shoulders until the Osakan calls out to Ran, saying, “Hey, Ran-san, I just had a pretty int’restin’ chat with yer charge. I know this is gonna sound shockin’, but believe me when I say dat Conan-kun is really—”

Just kill him now. Conan jumps into action, interrupting the teen with his panicked, “Wait, Heiji-niichan, you win!” He can only glare halfheartedly when the other gives him this evil grin that makes him wish that a gaping hole would spontaneously appear under him, swallowing him into the earth before he lost anymore of his dignity.

So much for keeping it a secret, he laments as he forces himself to hold the Osakan’s hand under the guise of having made a new friend.

Now that the situation is taken care of, the group is riding a bus and are currently on their way back from the murderous retreat. Ran is too tired to protest when Conan insists (read: begs) on sitting with Heiji. The duo choose a seat that’s as far as they can get from open ears.

Conan knew it was about time that someone figured him out—Ran already deduced it until persuaded otherwise by his horrid acting. He just never expected that the second person to do so and the first person to keep on insisting would be Hattori Heiji, a teenage detective not unlike himself. Forgive him, but he had always been under the impression that detective are all about evidence and logic yet somehow Heiji is able to believe that Kudō Shinichi somehow shaved ten years off of his body.

( _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._ )

Never mind the quote by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Never mind the quote from his beloved book series. Never mind the quote that just about sums up his life at the moment.

“So, lemme get this straight,” says Heiji, leaning back in his seat after Conan finished his tale. “Ya stick yer nose where it clearly didn’t belong and—”

“Please, Hattori, I’ve had enough of that from the professor and my parents,” he whines while definitely not pouting like an actual child. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“‘Cause it’s true,” Heiji retorts, his face and tone smug as ever. He ignores Conan’s mutter about how that was a rhetorical question in favor of saying, “So, how’d ya do it?”

The little detective frowns, unsure of what the other is asking. He thinks back, his mind reeling around the diplomat case, which had been the first time he met him. Nothing too unusual comes to mind until he remembers getting his body back.

(He’s been trying to forget about that because he had just been so mad that it wasn’t permanent.)

Conan grimaces, remembering how painful the transformation had been. He’s sure of it—his bones were melting and his body was steaming. He can only imagine what it must look like to an outsider. As he thinks, he says, “I’m not sure how I got my body back, but I believe it had something to do with being sick and that thing you gave me as a quote-unquote remedy.” He looks up at Heiji, giving him a level stare. “I can’t believe you gave liquor to someone who’s underage. Are you daft?”

To his credit, the other doesn’t seem to weirded out, and instead leans back, muttering something about how it could be the ingredients found in the drink.

“How are you doing this?” Conan asks, harnessing the other detective’s attention. “You’re a detective—you practically live on evidence and logic.” Gesturing to himself, he says, pitifully, “I should be dead and you know it.”

Heiji blinks at him before reaching out with both hands, seizing Conan’s left wrist and finagling the watch off. Indigo ink. Numbers wink. The both of them stare at it.

“Seein’ is believin’, Kudō,” says the Osakan, tapping on the numbers with this insipid smirk on his face. “The number on yer wrist don’t lie.”

Catching the watch that the other throws back at him, Conan mutters, “And a poison is just that.” He snaps the watch on. “Who knows. Maybe it’s slow acting and I’m due to die soon.”

Frowning, Heiji leans forward, placing his arms on his knees. “Don’t think ‘bout that, Kudō. Yer still here, aren’t ya? Focus on findin’ those bastards.” He sits back against his seat. “Ya know, I thought yer and the nēchan were soulmates. Dats the whole vibe I was gettin’. Guess dats a wrong deduction on my part.”

“Ran? Yeah, we both liked each other when we were younger.” He smiles, thinking back to those days. “After learning about soulmates, we moved onto a brother-sister type relationship.”

“So yer childhood friends,” Heiji notes. “My soulmate and I are too.”

“Oh? Is she as hotheaded as you or coolheaded enough to balance it out?”

Heiji’s eyes snap towards him and he leans forward fast, saying, “‘S’cuse you, Kudō, but I’m not hotheaded.” Settling back in his seat, he continues with, “‘Sides, I like someone else. There’s this girl I saw, but she didn’t see me. Wouldn’t it be funny if we were soulmates instead?”

Conan raises a brow. “You’re... refusing your soulmate?” The idea isn’t unheard of, but he’s never met anyone to his knowledge who was rejecting the one they’re destined to be with. “I do remember hearing that it’s a fairly common practice in Osaka.”

Heiji shrugs, saying that if he ever meets the girl and finds that she’s perfectly happy with her own soulmate, he’d leave her alone.

(“Say, Kudō, have you heard about some jewel thief who always returns the things he steals?”)

•••

Ran returns to the agency one day, livid as she claims to have seen Shinichi while out with Sonoko. Obviously, Conan knows she mistook someone for him because Shinichi is right here with her and always has been. She’s even more outraged when neither he nor Kogorō seem to believe her.

All that emotion disappears when she slides a note towards her father. Apparently Sonoko’s family wants the Sleeping Sleuth To crack a code, which should lead them to the arrest of Kaitō 1412. The name sounds familiar, but Conan can’t place it.

That doesn’t stop him from looking at the code though.

_April Fool._

_When the moon splits in half,_

_I will come  to visit the origin_

_of the name of the jet black star_

_at the calling of the waves._

Funnily enough, the one who wrote this spelled out their entire plan for all the world to see, but it seems that everyone is just too blind to see it. He knows the time and the place. Conan can’t deny that the thief is clever and interesting. He wonders if this Kaitō 1412 is the very same thief whom Heiji has mentioned for a brief moment back on the bus. A jewel thief who not only returns the jewels he steals, but also hands his plans to the police and public on a silver platter?

How interesting.

Conan doesn’t figure out the riddle right away, but when he does, he finds himself rushing to the rooftop of the Haido City Hotel late at night.

The night is cold and the building is high enough that it chills the air. He wishes that he had the insight to put on something longer or thicker than a pair of shorts, but Conan doesn’t mind all too much. He sets down an empty beer car he had stolen from Kogorō’s desk and places a firework inside of the opening. In his pocket is the lighter he’s borrowing from the old man; he fingers it, being careful so that he doesn’t set his pants on fire.

That would be quite the story to feed to Ran should she discover that he had snuck out.

The rooftop is vast and empty. Down below, the city lives on, ignorant to the fact that a white phantom will appear right here. Conan looks down at his watch, noting the time to be 12:28. He has two minutes to spare, so he pulls out his phone finds the Professor’s contact in his small list. After all, the less people Edogawa Conan is connected to, the easier it is for him to hide and leave when the time comes.

“ _Shinichi, I’ve compiled some information from your father’s files, but the recent Kaitō 1412 still seems to be shrouded in mystery._ ”

“Like a phantom,” he murmurs. In a clearer voice, he asks, “What have you found?”

“ _First appearing eighteen years ago in Paris, he’s has many nicknames bestowed upon him: Heisei Lupin, Magician Under The Silver Sky, things like that; however, there’s one that seems to be preferred over the rest._ ” He pauses with Conan hanging onto every word given that his curiosity is completely and utterly piqued because this man must be growing old by now. “ _Kaitō Kid._ ”

The name rings in his head, but it still doesn’t hold any special meaning for him. There is, however, a niggling sensation and he feels as though that this name will be one he won’t be forgetting anytime soon. Conan echoes the name, tacking a silent question onto the end.

“ _A name coined by your very own father,_ ” says the man on the other end, shocking him to the core.

Thinking on it, he can see how the _Kid_ part came to be. If scrawled in a certain way, 1412 does resemble the English alphabet letters K, I, D. Kaitō 1412. Kaitō KID. Kaitō Kid. Conan shivers, feeling a presence behind him. Without wasting a second, he pockets his phone, keeping that same hand in a pocket and letting the other dangle by his side.

He turns in time to see a figure in white landing on the the rooftop’s entrance without so much as the lightest of taps as his shoes meet the ground. A white cape flutters behind the man and he bows with an air of grace that Conan could only hope to achieve. The moonlight behind him casts his shadow across the ground in a shade of blackish blue and his entire being is glowing.

His breath hitches.

Something in the back of Conan’s head is whispering something to him, but he ignores it in favor of committing everything about this man that he can to memory. Slender, tall, most likely has some sort of build that is athletic enough to use to his advantage. Without disturbing the stillness of the night, 1412 had landed on the rooftop, in front of him. If he hadn’t seen it firsthand, he’d have called it trickery. No one should be allowed to be so silent and so sneaky.

Blue eyes trail up the man’s face, which is still well hidden behind the brim of that obnoxious hat. The curve of those lips—a smirk that can only be described as fearless; it tells Conan that the other had expected to find someone on this rooftop, but there’s the barest hint of surprise that betrays how he hadn’t expected the person on this rooftop to be a mere child.

Kid does an elegant jump down, landing without a sound, much to Conan’s frustration. As opposed to a single hand in a pocket, the man has both hands in their respective pockets and his shoulders are pushed back just the slightest bit. They both stand straight and tall, exuding a commanding presence; however, while the detective tilts his head upwards to catch the moonshine on his lenses, the supposed thief angles his head down, obscuring his face from view; although, Conan is almost certain that he had seen a monocle covering the other’s right eye.

Stepping with one foot in front of the other, Kid ambles on towards him, the smirk on his face being the only thing visible. Conan notices how smooth the skin looks and how there’s a distinct lack of wrinkles of aged lines. Whoever 1412 is, he’s young and can’t be any older than eighteen at most.

A successor, Conan’s mind supplies unhelpfully.

(That would mean there’s a monarchy of thieves and he’s not quite sure if the world is ready for that.)

The detective spins around, dropping to one knee and pulling out the lighter. He toys with it, trying to get the perfect flame. As he brings it closer to the firework’s fuse, a smooth voice floats in from behind saying, “Yo, kid, what are you doing at a place like this?”

The flame latches on, burning through the fuse quickly and sending the firework into the air; it explodes, hiding the sound of helicopter blades that are spinning in the distance. If all goes planned, the police will come to investigate. Hopefully, he only gets a scolding.

“Fireworks,” he answers, turning around to face the man; he can only make out a distinct frown on that face. He flourishes his hands while saying so before noticing a darkened silhouette against the light-polluted sky. He points, twisting around and crying out, “Oh! A helicopter must have seen us. How cool is that?”

The frown reverts back into a smirk. “Kid, you’re no ordinary brat.” He looks up as he says, “Who are you?”

Conan turns his head, meeting the other’s gaze. “Edogawa Conan, detec—”

( _If you happen to look someone in the eyes then you’ll just know._ )

The sentence echoes in his head—has echoed in it since he’s heard it. Even though it’s been years since he heard the phrase fall from his mother’s lips, he remembers it with startling clarity. Conan feels his breath leave him and he can say so with complete confidence. Breathless, he’s breathless.

And judging by the way Kid seems to have stopped breathing, the other noticed as well.

“Detective,” Conan finishes, feeling breathless and winded. After collecting himself, his first thought is that this absolutely could not be happening. He always thought that it would be his soulmate who’d have the shorter end of the stick—after all, he attracts nothing but death; however, now, he can’t help but feel that he has the short end of the stick. Literally.

“Oh.” Kid opens his mouth then closes it.

He tears his eyes away from indigo ones, grabbing his left wrist with his right hand. His watch. Tranquilizer watch. Now’s his chance to get Kid and turn him in. He fumbles to open it. In a stilted voice, he says, “Shouldn’t you be worried, Kaitō Kid-san?” He turns back to face the man, keeping his gaze at those white, white shoes. “The police are on their way right now.”

1412 has a change of expression. Conan wonders if he really wants to do this: does he really want to send his soulmate to jail?

(Of course he does. Soulmate or not, a thief is still a thief even if he returns what he steals. Detective and thief. Lawful and unlawful. _Kaitō 1412 belongs behind bars._ )

(But _soulmate._ He’d feel guilty knowing that the reason the other half of his soul is behind bars is because of him. _Soulmates should love each other._ )

(He doesn’t even know Kid. _He doesn’t even know Kid._ )

“This is Chaki. I’ve sighted Kaitō Kid on the rooftop of the Haido City Hotel. Attention all vehicles patrolling the Haido District and all helicopters flying above Beika City: go to the scene swiftly and stop Kaitō Kid.”

He can change his voice in the blink of an eye, Conan realizes, unable to resist gaping. Kid winks at him, sending a spark of red hot anger through him. Soulmates be damned, he thinks as he remembers where his morals lay. He positions his arm as an angry voice bellows from the radio 1412 had produced, stating that the previous order had been a trick by the criminal himself.

The whirring of helicopter blades is louder than ever and Conan feels his hair whip around. For once, he’s thankful for his glasses as they protect his eyes from the stabbing ends of his flying hair.

Over the radio, a voice stammers out that the order had apparently been given by Kid himself and that he is indeed on the rooftop of the Haido City Hotel. Conan wonders what the man could want with drawing the police towards him when the thief changes his voice once more to say, “No, it was I, Nakamori! To all officers on patrol inside Haido City Hotel: Kid is on the rooftop. All men converge on the roof. Take him down!”

Of course! Conan almost slaps himself. Kid is going to escape in the muddled confusion—most likely, he’ll disguise himself as an officer and mix in with the ones who will be appearing shortly.

“Satisfied now, little Tantei-kun?”

“Don’t call me little.”

The door to the rooftop opens, revealing a man whom Conan recognizes as Inspector Nakamori. The man points a gun at 1412, shouting a commanding, “Don’t move, Kaitō Kid!”

The detective scowls, closing the cover of his watch and narrowing his eyes; it’s too late to make a move without arousing suspicion and he doesn’t want to risk hitting someone who isn’t Kid.

“My, my! If it isn’t Nakamori-keibu. You sure move fast.”

Harrumphing, the inspector from Ekoda says, “You knew that I had deciphered your message and had been waiting here for you all day!” Kid snickers. “I predicted that you would fly here with that damned hang glider of yours. Now, give up the pearl because I have you surrounded.”

“Was it really you who figured out my note?” 1412 asks, his voice taunting the man. “But fear not, Nakamori-keibu, for I’ve yet to steal the pearl. Tonight was just a practice drill of sorts. I had no intention of stealing it tonight.”

What?

“Oh, I’m sure I made it clear at the top of the note,” Kid says, bringing a fisted hand out. Pressing down on something, his cape immediately became a hang glider. “April Fool. A joke.” In the cover of light, he hears the thief’s voice. “Kid, did you know? A thief is a creative artist who takes his prey in style.” There’s the unmistakable feeling of paper touching his right arm, secured in place inside his sleeve. “A detective is no more than a critic who follows his footsteps.”

As he secures the belt around his waist, Conan notices a small capsule falling from Kid’s right sleeve. As it hits the ground, a bright flash emanates, blinding everyone in the immediate vicinity. The detective shields his eyes. In its wake, a cloud of pink smoke and confetti.

Nakamori yells out an order as Conan looks around, stupefied. He had been certain that Kid would try to escape in the small sea of officers, not by sky! Unless... unless that had been a trick to get the inspector and other responding authorities off his back. A decoy? A double? A dummy? He supposes that that doesn’t sound so far fetched given what he’s been able to deduce about this thief’s personality. 1412 seems like a magician type, after all.

Before him, a single slip of paper flutters to the ground, weighed down by a rose with petals as white as snow.

_On April 19,_

_aboard the Queens_

_Elizabeth, which embarks_

_from Yokohama Harbor,_

_I will arrive to steal_

_the real Black Star._

_Kaitou Kid_

He hovers over it, committing the words to memory. His teeth grind against each other and his eyes are sharp and heated. Just as he’s about to point out the note, paper slips from his sleeve and he catches it, turning on his heel and hiding it from prying eyes. The few words written leave him with an insatiable urge to rip it up before proceeding to lock himself in a cold, dark basement.

_Let us meet once more and have a chat, Tantei-kun._

•••

“Listen, I don’t think you understand,” says Conan, speaking in a manner as though he were trying to explain something as complicated as why the sky is blue to a child. “Hakase, my soulmate is a thief. His soulmate is a detective.” He sips at his cup of coffee, which is black as crude oil. He prefers iced coffee, but the man doesn’t have the means to make it how he prefers it. “Do you see the problem here?”

“This is quite the predicament, Shinichi,” Agasa responds, rubbing his chin. “What are you going to do about it? Will you meet with him?”

“Only to put him behind bars where criminals belong.” The detective stirs his drink, biting his lip as he stares inside the cup. “Only to put him behind bars where he belongs.”

•••

Eighteen days later finds Conan aboard the Queens Elizabeth.

He knows that by being on board, he risks running into the thief; it’s a given if he’s going to chase the thief. His mind is screaming at him to catch Kid, but there’s another part that’s telling him how unbearable it is to be apart from his soulmate for so long after having just found him.

(Gems. Pearl. Moon. Lady.)

Out of everyone on this ship, who had the best chance? Who had the means to do so?

(Gems. Pearl. Moon. Lady.)

“When I say Holmes...”

(Gems. Pearl. Moon. Lady.)

“I’ll say Lupin!”

(Gems. Pearl. Moon. Lady. _That’s it!_ )

Minutes later, the pearls given to each guest began to emit smoke, causing panic and creating the cover that the thief needed to get his grabby hands on the true pearl. Conan waits for everyone else to follow where they think Kid is headed before grabbing Ran’s hand, pleading with her to go catch 1412.

When she hesitates, he tells her that he’s figured out who Kid is. The look in his eyes must have caught her off guard as she stumbles after him when he tugs her forward. She follows, asking him question after question after question. Conan doesn’t answer, choosing instead to silently drag her along with him to the ship’s engine room.

Ran notices, asking if the thief is really inside such a place. Conan’s not stupid, but he may as well be if he’s doing what he is. Despite how much he doesn’t want to talk to him, the detective tells himself that he wants the satisfaction of being the reason that the thief is behind bars.

“Nē, Ran-nēchan, do you know anything about gem language?” he asks, facing away from her. She echoes the last two words, sounding thoroughly confused, so he elaborates. “In gem language, the words for pearl are moon and lady, which means that one with the pearl is a woman whose name contains the character for moon.” He turns to catch her eye. “In other words, Suzuki Tomoko-obāsan carried the real pearl until it was stolen.”

“I see,” says Ran, her voice betraying her amazement. “But how did that help you figure out who Kid is? You said you figured him out, right?”

“The card.” Conan smirks. “Kid’s message had been glued to the back of the card you picked. The trick works by diverting the audience’s attention to the pigeon while he places the prepared card on top of the pile. Simple. That way, no matter what, the same card will be on top no matter who shuffled the deck.”

Ran nods, seeming to absorb this new information. “So, since the message was glued onto the card, you’re saying that Kaitō Kid is that magician named Sanada-san?”

Conan shakes his head, averting his gaze as he says, “Nope. I’ve been watching watching him and he went nowhere near Suzuki-obāsan. Isn’t that right, Ran-nēchan. Or rather, Kaitō Kid-san?”

His companion freezes before laughing out loud. Inside his chest, Conan feels his heart do a thing, but he’ll deny it if anyone asks. It’s weird, he thinks, hearing what he assumes is Kid’s voice coming from Ran’s mouth. The entire thing is rather unsettling and he has half a mind to kick the other in that delicate area.

“Such perception, I’m amazed, Tantei-kun.” Kid peels off his mask, digging fingers in an area under his chin and lifting the material away from his skin; it’s kind of gross to watch, actually. He somehow fixes his monocle into place in less than a second. “Tell you what, I’ll give you back the pearl.”

Narrowing his eyes, Conan is certain that the look on his face is terrifying as the other falters under his stare. “I’m sensing a but in there,” says he, scowling.

1412 shrugs his bare shoulders. The detective huffs, resisting the urge to tell the other that he looks absolutely horrid in Ran’s dress with that monocle-hat combo. He doesn’t dare speak, having an inkling that the thief is the type of person to twist one’s words around.

“I want to talk.” With a snap of his fingers, Kid’s form is enveloped with a cloud of smoke and it dissipates to reveal him in his obnoxiously white suit.

“What’s there to talk about?” Conan sniffs, giving a little scoff as he crosses his arms. The fabric of his sleeves make it much harder to dig his nails into his skin out of sheer frustration.

“Lots of things,” replies Kid, his voice going dangerously low. “You... me... _soulmates._ ”

The word sends his cheeks and ears alight with a burning red. Embarrassed and flustered, Conan turns away, his scowl deepening as he screws his eyes shut. His right hand wraps around his left wrist as it always does in these moments of panic. He huffs. “Can we talk when I’m not trying to send you to a prison?”

Before the detective can even open his eyes, Kid lunges forward, seizing Conan’s right wrist and pulling it away from his other one. With a gasp, the not-child struggles, failing to escape the vice grip on his wrist. “Tantei-kun, please, I know how this looks and I just—”

“And you don’t think I do?” Conan shouts, staring at the thief with his eyes ablaze. “You’re a thief and I’m a detective! We’re on opposite sides of the law—enemies! Of course I know what this looks like so let go of me this instant.”

The other gapes, looking at him with eyes that are wide and searching. “Tantei-kun, you misunderstand. That’s not what—” Kid sighs. “It’s not that, never that. You seriously don’t get it, do you?”

“Get _what?_ ” Conan snaps, baring his teeth. “Tell me, Kid, what am I not seeing?”

Frowning, Kid drops the detective’s wrist, bringing his gloved hand to hold the brim of his hat as he ducks his head, hiding his face from view. “Just how old are you, Tantei-kun?”

Being he’s angry and confused and in the moment, Conan opens his mouth to tell the other that he’s sixteen and that he still doesn’t get what Kid is trying to say. Then, before his voice can slip, he shuts his mouth, realizing his folly and realizing what has the other so upset. He had forgotten, actually, what the situation looks like. The detective hasn’t looked at it from 1412’s point of view, only his. The not-child stutters, stepping back uneasily.

“I-I’m... I’m...” His mouth feels desert dry as he deals with his inner battle. To tell or not to tell, that is the question. (— _Tell him. Tell him. Tell. Him._ —) Conan doesn’t know Kid. Agasa and Heiji made it clear that it’s important that he keep anyone else from finding out. He clears his throat. “The pearl, Kid.”

Footsteps echo outside, hinting for the both of them that the thief needs to leave or else he might find himself in a trouble situation. With a sigh, the man tosses the pearl towards the other, whirling around and striding over to the door so he can leave, but not before saying, “You’ll find Mouri-chan in a lifeboat. Until next time, Tantei-kun.”

But there won’t be a next time, Conan thinks, pushing down the vexed scream bubbling in the back of his throat.

•••

When he returns the pearl, the Suzukis make a spectacle out of it and he ends up as the headliner of every newspaper and news station. The Protector Of The Black Pearl, they’ve taken to calling him. For the next few days, he’s dodging reporters and fangirls hoping to get some juicy information out of him. Some old man in the family named Suzuki Jirokichi is apparently unhappy that he’s been overturned for some grade schooler, but he’s also become Conan’s biggest fan.

(Said old man apparently makes a vow to appoint Conan as his personal protector for the next time he challenged Kid because apparently Jirokichi makes it a point to send the thief summons and tests. And who does that? No sane person practically invites a thief to steal.)

Sonoko is no different from her fellow fangirls, he finds out as she begs him to tell her all about her quote-unquote Kid-sama when she and Ran walk him to school one morning. He escapes her questions by ducking past the gates and only hearing her outraged cries as he enters the safe haven of elementary school.

He doesn’t want to hear one more thing about Kid because even just thinking about white sends his heart racing and makes something inside of him ache with some sort of want.

Ugh. Soulmates.

He hates the idea with a burning passion.

(Not really. Don’t tell anyone, but he can be a romantic at heart if he really tries.)

•••

Haibara Ai, he learns, is formerly known as Miyano Shiho, and she’s the one responsible for his shrinkage as someone who had a hand in the creation of the poison that ruined his life.

Except she also isn’t because it’s Gin who administered the poison and it’s his own damn fault for getting caught.

Indirectly, it’s also That Person’s fault.

(He’s almost certain that Haibara knows who That Person behind the Organization’s every movement is. She had been a part of it and she surely must know who her own boss is. Conan’s tried to get information out of her, but she’s set on not saying anything that he hasn’t already figured out himself.)

She likes to watch his every move with sharp eyes. On her own wrist is a watch not unlike his own to hide her own soulmark, which is still counting up. The kids, having noticed their matching watches, had confronted them once, asking if the two of them are soulmates. Even his fellow APTX victim had a good laugh at that, denying the theory. Haibara lies, using an excuse similar to Conan’s.

Speaking of soulmates, Haibara’s been let in on his situation since she lives with Agasa and heard it from the man himself. Like the sardonic she-devil she is, the other not-child likes to hold it over his head and points out every new notice that Kid puts out. Even though it’s been a few weeks, neither he nor the other have made a move and he hopes that it stays that way.

Even when the quote-unquote soulmate pull is yearning for his other half, Conan stays put and he hopes to do so until he at least gets his body back.

Perhaps it’s the protective instincts inside of him that wish for the other’s safety, which cannot be ensured when he’s currently like this. As soon as he’s Shinichi again, perhaps he’ll gain the courage. As soon as the crows are taken down, perhaps he’ll feel more comfortable. He figures that it’s possible that Kid has enemies of his own and he doesn’t want to add to that number by introducing his Organization to that thief.

Haibara enjoys goading him with facts. She likes to remind him that once soulmates meet, it’s hard for them to stay apart. She likes to tell him that things can get messy if soulmates are apart for too long. She also likes to inform him of how powerful soulmate bonds are.

(He knows how powerful they are. He knows how soulmates are drawn to each other after meeting. He knows that it won’t do him much good to continuously avoid the thief, but it’s not like Kid is trying to get close to him either.)

•••

Days come and days go. Cases come and cases go. Life moves on, even if every passing second is total agony.

Kid puts a heist notice out and Haibara doesn’t fail to tell him about it. He doesn’t dare look at it because even the thought of the thief makes his skin itch. There’s a growing unease in his chest. When the feeling becomes too much, he retreats to the professor’s house, where the only two readily available people in the know reside.

Upon entry, he notices that there’s something different in the air, but he attributes it to his current level of stress, which is far too high for a grade schooler, even if he’s actually supposed to be in high school. Conan throws himself into the kitchen after toeing off his shoes and exchanging them for slippers, moving to prepare a cup of coffee for himself as he usually does; however, a presence appears from behind, and Agasa’s chiding voice says, “You’re not thinking of drinking coffee, are you?”

He whirls around and notices the man staring at him with raised brows. Conan harrumphs. Haibara has been trying to limit his caffeine intake. “What Haibara doesn’t know won’t hurt,” he replies, frowning as he turns back to his coffee cup. “You’re one to talk if you begin preaching about healthy eating and drinking habits.”

Still, Conan walks away from the counter, his lips pulled downwards in a frown as he begins to pace across the void between the kitchen and the living room area. His arms are folded behind his back with his right hand itching towards his left arm; it itches. He sighs.

“Where is Haibara anyway?” He expects to hear that she’s in her lab that’s been situated in the basement, but there’s no response to that. Whatever. “Can I talk to you?”

“I don’t see why not,” says Agasa. “What’s troubling you, Conan-kun?”

“It’s... it’s about the whole Kid-Soulmate-thing,” Conan elaborates, twisting his fingers together. “I know I told you that I wanted to wait until everything with Them blows over, but I’m not sure if I can wait any longer—and I also know that you and Haibara and Heiji and my parents advised that I make sure nobody else knows, but I think I need to tell him.” He sighs, rubbing the palms of his hands on his cheeks. “I forgot how this looks from his perspective.”

The man hums in reply. “Go on,” says he, prompting the detective to continue.

With a shrug, he carries on, crossing the floor with his eyes glued to the ground. “I also don’t think I can tell him. What if he starts asking questions?” He groans. “But from his perspective—! If I were him, I don’t know how I’d react.”

“Conan-kun, perhaps it’s best to just tell him.”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, I want to. This whole soulmate thing is—my mark is just so itchy all the time. Is that supposed to happen? Haibara did say that soulmates can’t help but be drawn to each other after meeting, so it’s supposed to have side effects when soulmates purposefully pull away from the other.” He shudders, rubbing his arms as he wonders just how people can even deny the bond. Doesn’t... doesn’t it feel wrong? Because to him it does. “I want to tell him, but I don’t know what I’d do if he got killed because of me.”

“Conan-kun, wh—”

The detective spins on his heel, giving the man a sort of desperate look that he didn’t mean to convey. “Why do you keep calling me that?” Honestly, he relishes the moments when he can hear his real name because hearing _Conan this_ and _Conan that_ is just so painful sometimes; it’s why even when Heiji screws up and calls him by his name in front of others he doesn’t get too angry at his cover almost being blown. “We’re alone, you know. You can call me by my real name. Haibara’s always checking for bugs and taps if you’re worried.” He pauses. “Though, that’s never stopped you before, anyway.”

Agasa looks abashed as he scratching the back of his head. “Ah, sorry, sorry.”

Waving him off, Conan collapses onto one of the couches, kicking off the slippers and shifting onto his back and placing his left arm over his eyes after pushing his glasses to the top of his head because he’s far too lazy to toss them to the side. One foot hangs over the edge, clad in a white sock with bottoms dirtied from times when guests slippers were unavailable.

“I feel so guilty,” he remarks, sighing. “Is this the whole soulmate thing? It’s probably the whole soulmate thing.” He sighs. Again. “I wish we weren’t soulmates.”

From his spot, Agasa asks, “Why are you so against being soulmates?”

For a moment, Conan purses his lips. “I have morals, Hakase. It’s not right? The two of us? He’s a thief and I’m a detective.” He turns onto his side, being careful so as to not bend or break his glasses. “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he says, staring at the individual threads in the fabric of the couch, “but I’m supposed to want him behind bars.” With another sigh, he speaks. “Maybe I could work around that; it’ll be difficult, but not impossible. My biggest issue is that I met him looking like this.”

“And what’s wrong with the way you look?”

He sits up, climbing on his knees to throw the man an incredulous look as he peeks over the back of the couch. His glasses fall back onto the bridge of his nose and he pushes them up with his right pinky. “I can’t fault you without being a hypocrite myself,” he says, dropping back onto the seat cushions; they’re so soft and he wishes that they’d swallow him up if the earth won’t do him the honors. “He, like everyone else, thinks I’m six. I’m not six.” He scoffs. “A child, Hakase, he thinks I’m a child!” For a moment, he feels bad for the other because of what 1412 doesn’t know. “He probably feels like a pedophile.” Then, he pauses. “Well, he could still be one, depending on just how old he is. You did say he first appeared eighteen years ago...”

Then, he hears it.

A voice that makes his stomach drop.

“What do you mean you aren’t six?” inquires a familiar voice that does not belong to the man who’s taken care of him since his first childhood.

Slowly, Conan sits up, eyes wide and lips tight. He peers over the couch’s back, making eye contact with two indigo eyes where one’s clarity is obstructed by that obnoxious monocle with a clover charm hanging from it. His eyes slide to the ground where a discarded Professor Agasa disguise lay. The detective sinks down into the cushions, screwing his eyes shut and pinching himself in hopes that this is all just some horrid dream.

He opens his eyes and Kid is sitting across from him, garbed in that blinding suit of white.

“I’m waiting,” says 1412 in a singsong voice that juxtaposes the serious expression on his face.

Conan jumps to his feet, stumbling as his feet sink into the couch’s plush cushions. “Y-you!” he all but shrieks, pointing an accusatory finger. “What are you doing here? And where’s Hakase? And Haibara?” He narrows his eyes as he snaps, “What did you do to them?” in a demanding voice.

“Me,” Kid agrees, smirking. “I sent Agasa-hakase a free voucher for an all-you-can-eat buffet. As for the little ojōchan, I’ve no idea, but I do hope she won’t be back before I get my answers. So, worry not, I’ve done nothing to harm a single hair on their heads.”

Scowling, the detective flicks open the cover of his watch and readies it in one fluid motion, closing one eye so that he can get a better aim. “Like hell I’ll tell you anything!” He holds back the growl in his throat. “Even if this isn’t a heist, I can and will take you down.”

The other laughs. “Oh? It sounded like you were so close to telling me whatever it is you’re hiding, Tantei-kun. Now, tell me: how old are you?” He punctuates the question, turning every word into a bullet that pierces through the thin protection he’s managed to build up. Conan winces, faltering for the smallest second. Kid continues. “I came here because you haven’t shown up at any of my heists since the Queens Elizabeth and, frankly, I’m getting tired of this denial that we’re both going through. Soulmates aren’t meant to be separated for so long after finding each other.” He smirks. “You feel it too, don’t you? Our bond?”

“Shut up,” Conan murmurs, narrowing his gaze. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”

Like the lousy person he is, the thief only grins. “But you want to, don’t you?” Kid tugs down on his own sleeve, bringing his arm in front of him and baring his wrist to Conan, where sapphire ink makes up his mark. The detective’s breath hitches, getting caught in his throat and any words on his tongue dying. “Soulbonds are odd things, Tantei-kun. With them, we’re compelled to speak only the truth with our soulmates. You know you want to tell me and I know I want to hear it.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Kid’s mark. Mentally, he traces the numbers, marveling in the elegance of their formation. Something akin to possessiveness bubbles inside of his chest and his insides feel warm in a fuzzy sort of sense. Conan bites his lip and forces himself to avert his gaze before he becomes obsessed with seeing those numbers.

(That color—it’s the color of his eyes, isn’t it? He’s not very narcissistic despite what many might think, but he’s never seen anything so pretty. The color against that of Kid’s skin is just dazzling.

Actually, the eyes of... his soulmate’s eyes. The color is mesmerizing. All his life, he’s stared at the color of the numbers on his wrist; it matches Kid’s eyes to a T. Never has he seen eyes in that exact shade—indigo, or at least somewhere between blue and purple.)

“I want to trust you,” he says, eyes latching onto the other’s.

“And I want you to trust me,” replies Kid, his voice soft and quiet.

“But can I?” asks Conan.

Almost immediately, the thief says yes. Deep down, the detective already knows that, but he’s fairly certain that that’s just the bond speaking; he barely knows the thief, after all. He steels himself, clicking his watch shut and dropping his arms. Sending silent apologies to those who had advised him to do the exact opposite of what he’s doing, Conan utters a number that rings clearly in the air between them.

“Six... _teen?_ ”

“Sixteen.” Conan smiles without teeth, pulling his lips upward into an expression he feels is too awkward and too fond. “Long story short, I was fed a poison and left to die.” He gestures to himself. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”

“Tantei-kun,” Kid finally says after a few agonizingly silent seconds. “Tantei-kun, I’m all for jokes, but even I know that that one is simply horrible.”

While pulling off his glasses with his left hand, he holds out his right one. “Kudō Shinichi,” says he. “Detective.”

Tentatively reaching forward, Kid grabs his hand, giving it a firm shake. Without letting go, he snaps his fingers on his other hand, summoning a plume of smoke that obscures him from view. Left to stand in 1412’s wake is a teenage boy with unruly brown locks that look quite different from the black ones the thief seems to have.

“Kuroba Kaito,” he says, bringing the detective’s small hand to his lips. The other wonders just how he had changed clothes and removed those gloves without releasing his hand for even a second. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kudō Shinichi.”

Right before the not-child can even reply, the front door is thrown open, slamming against the wall.

•••

Unimpressed, Haibara sits across from the both of them, one leg crossed over the other as Agasa moving around in the kitchen. Her expression is blank in a terrifying sort of way. Her voice, however, is colored with a smothered anger.

“Kaitō Kid,” she says with conviction. He nods, knowing better than to deny her; she’s sharp and he knows it—everyone does. “You drew out the professor and disguised as him for your own personal gain without considering Edogawa-kun’s feelings in this situation.”

“Oi oi, Haibara,” Conan interjects in the middle of Kid’s sputtering.

“I hold nothing against him except for the fact that he’s the one responsible for ruining the diet I finally got the professor to follow,” the girl replies, sending the thief a scathing glare. “Do what you wish with Edogawa-kun, but never present that man with a one-way ticket to obesity and heart disease.” She sighs, ignoring the incredulous looks both boys give her or the old man’s yell. “I suppose a congratulations is in order, Edogawa-kun.” Her eyes turn to Kaito and she reaches into the drawer, whipping out a gun and pointing it in his face, her eyes sharp and glinting. “You, on the other hand...”

Expectedly, the teen reacts with a small shout. Unexpectedly, Conan sighs, sliding off the couch while muttering about how he wants coffee. Kaito gapes, twisting his upper body to see the detective padding about, searching for the coffee grounds that the scientist must have hidden.

Just as the magician is about to apologize profusely in hopes that she’ll put the gun away, she pulls the trigger.

_Bang._

A dozen red roses in pristine condition.

“Of course, this model doesn’t compare to the real thing,” she says, shaking the gun and letting the flowers fall into his lap. She runs her fingers over the nozzle, eyes focusing on it with a soft gaze. He doesn’t miss the implications that she prefers actual guns to fake ones. “I assure you that if you hurt him, I’ll kill you myself.”

“O-Ojōchan,” wheezes Kaito, his heart still racing. For a moment there, he actually thought he was going to meet his end. “You’re utterly terrifying.”

She smirks, tossing the gun over her shoulder, murmuring that she’ll put it away later. In the meantime, she brushes by him and says to Conan that, “It figures you’d end up with a weird one,” before disappearing down the hall.

Both Conan and Kaito stare after her, not exchanging a word or glance as the sound of a door closing resonates. The sounds of Agasa in the kitchen follow in the closing door’s wake. Then, the two of them meet each other’s gaze.

“Is... is she like you?” the magician whispers, sounding a little uneasy. The detective doesn’t blame him—Haibara did just figure out his identity and did just take a few years off of Kaito’s lifespan.

“Yep.” For the time being, Conan decides to keep the fact that Haibara is the one who created the poison to himself because he’s not willing to spill his life story to the other and his fellow APTX victim might not want him disclosing that information just yet.

•••

Now that Agasa and Haibara are out of the way, Kaito just needs to meet Ran and Heiji.

(And his parents, but he’d rather save that for when he _really_ needs to introduce them, which hopefully won’t be for a while. Little does he know of the history his parents have when the magician’s own.)

Coincidentally enough, not too long after, Kaito meets Ran and Heiji all in one go when his Osakan friend brings with him a case that takes them to Ekoda.

(Heiji is being rather rude because he knows that Shinichi is the one the client wanted, but since no one can get to Shinichi, everyone goes to Heiji or even Kogorō if desperate.)

Conan hadn’t told his soulmate of his current location because the last thing he needs is Kaito joining in on the quote-unquote fun. He also has no idea how well the magician will deal if faced with a dead body, and when Conan and Heiji are together, bodies just seem to fall from the sky. Sometimes literally; it’s happened a few times.

There had been a tingling sensation on the back of his neck and before he can turn around, there are hands over his eyes and a familiar voice saying, “Guess who?” in some annoyingly singsong voice.

“Ka-Kaito—” he pauses, remembering that Ran and Kazuha and Kogorō are still with him “—niichan!”

“Bingo!” The hands are removed and everyone has stopped to stare at the both of them. Conan whirls around in time to have a white camellia. Gingerly, he takes it with an embarrassed scowl as Kaito says, “Fancy meeting you here, Conan-kun. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be in Ekoda?”

Someone clears their throat and both boys look to Conan’s companions to notice varying expressions on all their faces. Ran is the first to speak as she asks, “Um... who are you?” She shifts into a stance that leaves ample room for her to throw a kick if Kaito’s answer is unsatisfactory.

“Kuroba Kaito,” says the magician, standing up and bowing. He eyes Heiji, knowing that the other knows Conan’s secret, and continues. “Conan-kun is a cousin of mine.” The other detective narrows his eyes, looking down at his Eastern counterpart with a silent question in his gaze. “Don’t you see the resemblance? I haven’t seen him in person since he was four seeing as our parents don’t get along as well as they used to. We still keep in touch though.”

Heiji furrows his brows. “His _cousin_ , huh?” He crosses his arms. “Nice ta meetcha.”

“He’s told me all about you!” Kaito chirps, picking up his soulmate much to Conan’s annoyance. “The beautiful Ran-nēchan and his super smart Heiji-niichan.” He grins, noticing how the Osakan preens, even if Conan hadn’t actually said anything to that effect. “Pardon my familiarity, Hattori-kun, Mouri-chan.” Conan elbows him. “So, what brings you to Ekoda?”

Before anyone can answer, there’s the sound of something crashing and a small symphony of screams. Turning, they see a body that seems to have fallen on top of a car. The body is leaking red fluids, the puddle oozing and soon grows large enough to drip over the edge.

“ _That,_ ” deadpans Conan and Heiji. The little detective squirms out of Kaito’s arms, dropping to the ground in a crouch and only scraping his hand just a little bit. The flower had been saved from such harm as he had tucked the stem into a buttonhole or something of the sort.

Kaito just stares, looking horrified and unsure of how he should be reacting. Later, Conan finds out that the magician had asked Ran and Kazuha if this happens often for Kogorō had jumped into action as well. The detective sends an apologetic text when he steps away from the scene for a brief moment, explaining to the other that nothing but trouble comes when the East and West come together.

(It takes a while for Heiji to come around because he doesn’t trust a thief to be truthful. Conan is exasperated the entire time, wondering why neither his friend nor his soulmate can find any common ground. Eventually, the Osakan learns to like Kaito when the latter rescues Conan from a future kidnapping attempt.)

•••

After the case is solved, Heiji and Kazuha embark on their trip back to Osaka. Before Ran can persuade Kogorō to take her and Conan home, Kaito asks for her permission to take care of her little charge for the night. Having just met him, she’s hesitant, but the little detective puts up a childish front, pretending that he wants ever so much to spend time with his quote-unquote cousin whom he claims to be his best friend even if it’s been quote-unquote two years since they’ve seen each other.

She relents, but only after Kaito assures her that he can either buy some pajamas for Conan and throw his current clothes in the wash, or dig up childhood clothes of his own so that he won’t subject the not-child to sleeping in his shorts and dress shirt.

The two see the father-daughter pair off. As soon as they disappear from sight, Conan pulls his hand out of Kaito’s and scowls up at the other.

“So, what’s the real reason that you wanted me to stay with you?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend time with my adorable soulmate outside of heists?” He grins cheekily down at his detective. “White camellias mean _you’re adorable_ , by the way.” He winks and Conan flushes, looking away with the scowl still present on his face.

(Conan had taken to researching flowers after he had gotten an odd one from Kid at a heist. Flower language is, admittedly, fascinating, and it will do him well to learn it seeing as his soulmate has some sort of obsession with conveying his feelings without words.)

“Idiot,” mutters the detective. “Don’t say such things in public. Someone’s going to hear and think you’re a pedophile, even if we are soulmates.”

Kaito hums, taking the other’s small hand in his own, even if it’s not something Conan wishes to do. The magician decides to say, “I just wanted to ask you for a favor,” while leading them towards a cozy café not too far from where they are. “You’ve seen my mark, but I’ve yet to see yours. And I’d really like to see yours.”

Conan blinks. He hadn’t realized that, actually. Ever since he’s gotten his watch, he never takes it off aside from when he’s bathing. He frowns, staring at a crack that’s formed in the sidewalk. “All right,” he says. “But you owe me one.”

“Anything for you, Tantei-kun.”

•••

It’s not hard for Conan to figure out that Kaito is currently in disguise and aboard the Mystery Train as well. A surprise, it had been, but not entirely unpleasant. He had the other figured out almost immediately due to their connection. Earlier, he surmised that the other had decided to board for the sole reason of investigating the train.

A few days ago, Kaito had mentioned something about a heist on a train or something to that effect.

Because he had been aware that old man Suzuki had been planning to lure Kid out with the train, he already has a plan in the event that Kaito really did board the train. So, he corners his soulmate, his expression serious because the situation is already escalating and if they don’t play their cards right, this train ride may lead to nothing but misfortune for everyone onboard.

“I need a favor,” he says, searching for Kuroba Kaito somewhere underneath the disguise. He pulls up a picture of Haibara on his phone, shoving the device in the other’s face. “Can you disguise as an older version of her?”

“Tantei-kun,” stresses Kaito, his voice conveying some sort of worried warning. Conan’s almost certain that the other is baffled by the desperate and serious expression on his face. “What’s going on?”

Conan bites his lip. Haibara still hasn’t given him the okay to tell Kaito, and even though he’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions, he also sees why she’s so hesitant. Even someone as crafty as a phantom thief himself can still be in danger if the Black Organization ever catches onto the fact that he knows. With a sigh, the detective bows his head.

“I can’t tell you anything right now,” he says, his voice urgent and urging. “I just need you to trust me. You owe me, anyway—and I quote: _Anything for you, Tantei-kun._ If that’s not enough, I overlooked your actions to keep you from getting involved in the case. So, please, just take this and she’ll tell you what to say.”

He hears the rustling of fabric and when he finally looks up, Kid kneels before him, eyes trained on his and lips pursed. “I’d trust you with my life, Tantei-kun. How soon do I need to be ready?”

“As soon as possible,” replies Conan, dropping his hand when Kid takes the offered object from which Haibara will communicate with him. “Just drop the phone off at the agency before anyone returns.” He continues to instruct the other on where he needs to go and what he should do. Just as the thief rises to get ready, the detective tugs on his sleeve. “Wait! Kid, you’re going to be dealing with dangerous people.” He averts his gaze. “Be careful. They have guns and explosives prepared. If you die, that’s all on you.”

(But, please, don’t die.)

In his ear, 1412 croons to him an, “Aw, you care about me! How cute,” before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Conan stares before turning on his heel, hands in his pockets as he prepares himself for what’s to come. He feels something and frowns, taking out his right hand to reveal a daisy. Idly, he wonders when the other found the time to slip that in, but he perishes the thought in favor of looking for the children and Ran.

Later, when everyone’s finally off of the train, Conan anticipates a phone call from his soulmate. He can say that he was a bit surprised by the magnitude of the explosion. For a moment, he worried that Kaito got caught in it, but he’s almost certain that he had seen the other’s hang glider in the sky.

“Moshi, moshi.”

“ _What the actual fu—okay, Tantei-kun, don’t_ moshi, moshi _me!_ _You didn’t tell me that those people were that dangerous!_ ” An indignant huff. “ _You’re lucky I prepared my hang glider beforehand, otherwise I’d be dead and it would have been all your fault._ ”

“Sorry,” says Conan, cradling his phone. Fondly, he rolls his eyes at the other’s blatant dramatics; he trusted Kaito to be prepared. He looks up at Haibara, who is currently sound asleep. “Consider yourself out of my debt.”

The other line goes quiet, and for a moment he wonders if the other is truly that mad. On one hand, Conan should have explained the situation in better detail so that the other knew what he would be up against. On the other hand, the less Kaito knows, the better. And explaining would have taken time that they didn’t have and couldn’t afford. Still, he supposes that he could have provided a better warning than the one he had given the other.

“ _Consider yourself in my debt, Tantei-kun,_ ” says Kaito, sounding varying degrees of frustrated; it’s not a very nice color on him, Conan thinks. “ _You still haven’t told me who tried to kill you or why you’re in hiding—aside from the obvious. My story for yours. I think it’s safe to assume that those people will be a part of your explanation. I’ll see you next weekend._ ”

The detective sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The kids look at him and he hangs up without a parting, most likely eliciting an outraged squawk of one sort from the other. He pockets his phone, patting it through the fabric. Once again, he looks up at the sleeping scientist on Agasa’s back as though he wishes to make sure she’s definitely still alive.

Well, he’s known Kaito for a few months now. After all this time, he’s certain that the other had proven to him that he can and should be trusted. Conan smiles inside, nodding to himself because it’s about time that he lets the magician in on the big secret. If Haibara wishes to protest, she can do so, but he’ll remind her of the favor that the thief had done for the both of them.

Big secret. Oh, the irony.

Besides, he’s quite curious as to why Kaito has turned to a life of thievery. All he’s been able to piece together is that the other boy is looking for a specific gem. He doesn’t know why or what it could be for, but time and time again, the individual ensures him that he’s not looking for personal gain or cheap thrills in this conquest of his.

(Begrudgingly, Haibara accepts the fact that Kaito knows everything about their situation.

Even though Conan tries to convince her that he’s a valuable asset with his skills and talents, the woman refuses to see him as an ally up until it’s time for the silver bullet to strike through the heart of the Organization; although it’s a crow of the circle that they’re dealing with, That Person will still fall when he attacks.)

•••

It’s been quite a while since Conan and Kaito first met.

(Due to distance, the two of them seldom meet outside of heists, but after that fateful meeting in Ekoda, Kaito occasionally finds a reason to invite Conan over. Still, they text each other often enough that Haibara loves to hold it over his head, teasing him about how the two are in some sort of never ending honeymoon phase.)

But it hasn’t been that long since the Organization had been taken down. The event took place over the course of a few weeks, beginning with long, grueling hours of painful planning and ending with the crow’s innermost circle dismantled and a couple loose ends being tracked down. Conan and many others had been in and out of the hospital for the past few weeks, having sustained varying degrees of injury that had come from the fight.

Kid hadn’t been spared, probably having taken the brunt of the damage as he put his life on the line for Conan, much to the detective’s ire. Currently, he’s being held prisoner in his own home in Ekoda with his mother acting as warden, resigning him to communicating through nothing but texts and phone calls. For now, he’s not allowed to leave the house until his injuries healed enough to not warrant too much concern or suspicion from those who don’t already know.

Conan still exists for the antidote is a work in progress.

Until now, that is.

Haibara purses her lips as she tosses a pill towards him, and he catches it, staring with no small ounce of wonder. “That’s the best I can do, Kudō-kun,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Take it if you’re willing to risk your life, but only after your wrist fully heals because I doubt transforming with an injury will be pleasant.” Turning on her heel, she continues. “The chances of a successful transformation aren’t very likely,” she tells him, “and it’s more certain that you’ll remain unchanged, but I have much doubt that this will kill you.”

“Are you giving up or is this truly as good as it gets?” he asks, closing his fist and holding the pill to his chest.

She gives him a critical eye as she looks over her shoulder. “Even with the information you’ve managed to obtain from the labs before everything was either destroyed or procured by the authorities, I’m afraid that I’ve exhausted every idea. And the results from the prototypes you’ve taken only helped so much.” She looks away again. “I’m sorry, Kudō-kun, but the chances of you having to grow up once more are high.” With a sigh, she says, “I’d say if you’re lucky enough to go through a successful transformation, you’re going to look as you did when you were fed the apoptoxin—you never did get a chance to grow up after that.”

“Not that there’s much growing up left to do when you’re sixteen,” he says. Two years. He’s actually eighteen now. Conan watches her for a few seconds. “You’re not going to take it?”

Haibara doesn’t answer and, instead, chooses to disappear down the hall like she always does. Conan opens his hand to stare at the pill again and then nods to himself. He’ll take it soon after the fracture he sustained in the fight is better.

Though, he’ll wait even after it heals so as to not draw suspicion. Conan’s transition out needs to be slow, just as Shinichi’s transition back into society has to be. For the safety of himself and everyone, the events of the Black Organization will be kept on the down low.

Conan pulls out his phone to tell Kaito the news, but as his thumb hovers over the other’s contact, he pauses, wondering if it’ll be better to surprise him instead.

As if he were the Devil himself, the magician calls him. When Conan answers, the other says a pitiful, “ _Tantei-kun, please entertain me. Kāsan is ruthless and won’t even let me have my deck of cards!_ ” to which the detective retorts with his own, “Idiot. You’re lucky you didn’t suffer permanent and debilitating injuries to your fingers—aren’t those suppose to be essential for performing almost every magic trick in the book?”

Kaito makes this sound somewhere between annoyed and fond. “ _No fair, you’re supposed to be on my side!_ ”

“And you’re supposed to be resting,” he snarks back, scowling. “If I have to, I’ll call Chikage-san and tell her to lace your water with sleeping pills.”

Sniffing, the other says, “ _So cold, Tantei-kun. I saved your life you know._ ”

Conan’s eyes soften even though the whispers in his mind are telling him to yell at Kaito for what he has done. “And I ask you to never do that again,” he replies. “I can take care of myself, you know. I don’t need to be coddled by the likes of you.”

“ _Is that an insult I hear, Tantei-kun?_ ”

He hangs up. Despite that, he can still hear the other’s protests.

•••

The detective yawns, adjusting his hood as he walks down the sidewalk. Checking his watch, he sees that it’s still early morning and people typically aren’t awake before the sun rises on weekends. For a moment, he smirks, wondering if Kaito is awake.

It’s been a few days since he had spoken with the other given that he’s been busy with his own troubles while Kaito is dealing with an influx of exams that are keeping him up at odd hours to study and then monopolizing his time during the days. Neither of them had time to answer any calls or texts that might have been sent during the past one or two weeks, which brings him here to Ekoda—namely the house that the magician resides in given its close proximity to his college.

Approaching the door, he wonders what he’s going to say and how Kaito is going to react. After all, they haven’t seen each other for weeks now. And, as hypocritical as it is, he wonders if the other is actually taking care of himself. Exams tend to run many people ragged as they spend too much time studying and not enough time eating or sleeping when they should.

Then again, he knows that the magician has to be a genius on some level. He’s confident in the other’s ability to retain information, which means Kaito can’t possibly be spending as much time studying as most people do. Still, that doesn’t explain why the other hadn’t been returning any of his texts or answering his calls.

Biting his lip, the detective raises his right hand, rapping his knuckles against the door. He waits a few seconds before locating the doorbell, pressing it once. Still uncertain of whether or not the other is awake, he has half a mind to spam his phone with calls, but he doesn’t want Kaito to know he’s here now.

He presses the button again before stuffing his hands in his pockets. Perhaps he should have arrived at a later time, he thinks. Just as he’s about to turn around, the sound of the door being unlocked causes him to freeze in his spot.

“Oi, Ahoko, it’s so early. Why are—” Kaito stops mid-sentence, hair askance even worse than usual and bags under his eyes.

“Hey,” says the detective, smirking lazily. “I’m just as tired as you are, but there are less people around this early in the morning and Haibara warned me to make sure no one knows I’m back yet.”

“Tan— _Meitantei_ ,” Kaito murmurs, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just seeing things. Throwing himself forward, he buries his nose in soft brown hair that smells of kiddie watermelon shampoo. Even though it’s already been made clear, he says an unnecessary, “You’re back.”

Shinichi grins into the other’s shoulder, whispering a muffled, “And I’m here to stay.”

(Hopefully, he can’t help but think. Even though the antidote has yet to fail him after five days, he’s still a little worried that one day he’ll be Conan again. For now, he’ll trust Haibara’s skills and hope that this really is it.)

Kaito pulls away, pushing back his sleeve and taking the detective’s left arm. “May I?” he asks, his fingers hovering centimeters away from the watch’s band. At the okay, he unclasps the accessory. Shinichi’s soulmark is nothing new, but he marvels at the sight of it every time. “You should have told me.”

Rolling his eyes, Shinichi only says, “I thought you liked surprises,” before pulling his arm back and bringing his hands to cup Kaito’s face. “I was just... worried. And, you know, we haven’t had our first kiss yet.”

Gaining a roguish look, Kaito chuckles with a shameless wink that sends his soulmate’s cheeks ablaze. “Let’s remedy that, shall we?” he replies before closing the distance between him and his detective. He slides his hands down to Shinichi’s waist, tucking that damned watch into a back pocket, and moving his lips in tandem with the other. The kiss is quick as they both pull away, but the other surprises the magician by surging forward, pressing their lips together in something a little more fervent and a lot more fierce.

When they pull away this time, they lean their foreheads against each other.

“I’m still mad about having woken up so early,” says Kaito, “but this is far from the worst wakeup call that I’ve ever received.”

“Maybe I should have come later,” Shinichi comments, scoffing as he leans back and crosses his arms. “At least then you wouldn’t have morning breath.”

Kaito flicks him on the forehead, crossing his arms as his expression conveys how affronted he is. “How typical. I hope you’re happy that you just ruined the moment,” he retorts, grinning despite himself. Then, the magician wiggles his brows. “You know,” he says, trailing a hand up Shinichi’s chest and capturing his chin. “Now that you aren’t six anymore, there’s a lot of things we can do.”

Shinichi doesn’t miss the implications and his cheeks begin to burn hotter than they ever did. “I-idiot! Don’t say things like that,” he chastises, swatting his soulmate (— _Boyfriend? Lover? They haven’t really broached that topic despite how long they’ve acknowledged their undeniable connection_ —) in the arm, brushing past him and purposefully bumping shoulders while the other closes and locks the door. “The only sleeping together we’ll be doing is not the sexual kind.” He twists around, grabbing Kaito by the forearm. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dead tired. Haibara forced me to stay up so much to monitor my conditions.”

“Is this your way of propositioning me?” the magician purrs, sounding unabashed. “Why, I’d love to.”

Turning his head to give his best scathing glare, Shinichi barks out a flustered, “We’re going to bed and that’s _it._ No funny business.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, this is a [Measured In Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410887) rewrite. :) Please don’t read that version—or do, I don’t care.
> 
> As I said in that version, I was inspired by a LunaDarkside fic (read: [My Darling Soulmate](https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11426559/1/My-Darling-Soulmate7)) to write a long soulmate AU.
> 
> I was aiming for 20k words, but, as you can tell, I got lazy after the reveal and just kind of... er... yeah. Whoops. I’ve no patience and about 500 lbs of writer’s block.
> 
> Please, pardon any and every mistake I’ve made in terms of grammar or spelling and the like. Any mistakes I’ve made in terms of accuracy in portrayal of the DCMK plot are most likely purposeful.
> 
> Plus, I’m lazy. Give me a break. I’m sleep deprived and school is coming up and the only reason I wrote this is because I’m stuck on how to write something for [TSAWLM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646668/chapters/36339684). :/
> 
> That’s all. It’s 3 am now, so good night.
> 
> Please, if you enjoyed reading this even the tiniest bit, do leave a kudos and it’s greatly appreciated if you drop a comment as well!
> 
> Especially if you wish to see Kaito’s side of the story. I never did get around to writing that, huh?


End file.
